my dream

was so strange and long last night. I dreamt that i went to a large and strange hospital and checked myself in as mentally unable to cope. i queued with lots of people who all seemed fine. 'you will have to stay here all night until 6 30 am' i was told, 'the fee is £12'. 'Can I leave when I want to?' I asked. 'you can, but you will be observed to see what is wrong with you' I was told. two choices lay before me. going home or checking in. I checked in. tomorrow would have to cope without me. I paid my twelve pounds from a twenty and I was given two tablets to take. then I sat in what was like a large waiting room full of people in dark casual dress, like an x factor audition waiting warehouse. I did not want to talk to anyone at all. I wanted to sit quietly and be observed. there had been a hurricane and I found my self at my sister's grave searching for the photo I had left. it had been swept away to another grave. I tried to find someone in the hospital who would remember my sister. the priest who was observing kept on watching me. I cried openly and he came to see me. 'what is wrong?' he said. I am sad I told him. I do not like these people they are all the same. the tablets you have taken should mean you have a nice time while you are here. he told me. then things will seem different in the morning. I cried and cried. I am not well, I thought. admit me. I stayed all night. the tablets made me slur and I could not talk properly. I did some errands and felt quite useful, maybe the priest will just give me a job instead I thought. maybe I am not mad, just useless. I did not get a job. I performed errands. the priest touched my arm. you will be OK he told me.
some people were not ill this was cheaper than finding a hotel for the night. they sat around singing and playing guitars.
I was back at the dark graveyard in the night, in the rain, a car nearby doors open. I kept on finding strange pictures of my sister, ones that did not look like her. I tried to make the photo right, it was still dry.
 somewhere in the dream my life became a strange howling landscape with various props from my life; my childhood. I cannot remember which props but like a few toys I recall; some memories which played over and over like voices crying out from my subliminal. I could see the frame of this landscape stretching far like a grey desert; but I cannot recall the voices; objects or visual memories that were present in this, my personal disparate universe.

this dream slips away now and I can't remember the finest details, the dialogue. but when I woke and felt so sad I could not tell my sister how wonderful she is and precious, and loved,  I  thought of how while alive we must not forget to do this to our loved ones and to ourselves.